


in prison shaped like another man

by henwens



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Louis Dega POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henwens/pseuds/henwens
Summary: redemption, for louis dega, looks like papillon.(or: louis dega's time in solitary is spent around other people, all but the one he truly wants to see)





	in prison shaped like another man

**Author's Note:**

> title from "section 37" of walt whitman's "song of myself"

Louis let himself go limp with pain as the two guards dragged him away, dead leaves collecting at his feet. His back was stinging and he could barely see, but the worst pain was the knowledge that his safety net had just been cut away beneath him. Papillon was gone.

Louis did not blame him though. Shame burned its way through his veins—he had been weak, _he was always so weak_ , and Papillon had protected him as he always did.

Papillon had been so concerned about having an escape plan, though, and had run off with nothing—Louis felt sick as he did it, but he prayed that the guard survived the attack. He did not pray that Papillon would get away.

Before he knew it, the guards had deposited him at the foot of the warden, who pressed a dry boot to Louis’s face. Louis felt something sting on his cheek—a cut where his glasses had hit him as he’d been struck? He felt something embed itself further under his skin and knew that to be the case. With his stomach rolling, he tried to focus on the warden’s words.

“I am sorry to see that you have suffered like this,” the man said, words crawling past his lips like syrup. “But I am glad that my theory about you has proved correct. You are made of smarter stuff than the average caged dog—you know when not to run. I will keep an eye on you. I have something in mind.”

Louis did not want anything to do with the warden—his heart raced as he realized Papillon was all he wanted in that moment. He held back the tears as the warden removed his boot and hot blood coursed down his chin.

“Take him to the infirmary,” the warden said with finality. Louis refused to help his captors, let himself be carried off.

When they threw him on his stomach onto an infirmary cot, Louis remembered with a cold flash why his back felt like it had been burned open. An orderly in striped pants begins to rip at the fabric of Louis’s shirt, clearly not trusted yet with any sharp objects. The pulling of cotton against the open wounds is agonizing, and black spots begin to take over his vision.

Louis figures that God is done with letting Louis have things, but he sends out one last prayer—he wants Papillon at his side again, whatever the cost.

He has always been a greedy bastard.

\---

Louis is still in the infirmary when Papillon is brought back to camp. Louis would never have known, though, if it were not for Clusiot.

The man was injured while fighting off a crocodile as they were pulling supplies across a river—when Louis heard this, his mind reeled. Soon, however, Louis realized Clusiot had a secondary motive for getting thrown in the infirmary. He had an “in” with one of the orderlies and had gotten them to smuggle him quinine. Louis was a little surprised that Clusiot had chosen such a practical medicine to steal—and was thinking it still when Clusiot turned and locked eyes with him from across the room.

Louis was able to sit with his back to the pillow, but any sudden movement still brought him pain. As Clusiot walked toward him, Louis weighed the cost of shifting away from the man—or even making a run for it.

“Relax,” the man said. “Thought you might be curious about your boyfriend.”

Louis’s heart stilled in anticipation of the news. “Yes,” he breathed out.

Clusiot laughed. “Not even upset he was caught, huh? Well, that lucky son of a bitch got two years in solitary for his trouble. And you,” Clusiot leaned in. “You’re out here with us.”

 _Papillon was alive_. And then: _I want to see him again_.

Louis would have to stay alive too.

“I need protection,” he said suddenly, catching even Clusiot off guard. The prisoner looked him up and down.

“How much?”

“I’ll give you Papillon’s share,” Louis was lying through his teeth, but he had been good at that before. He hoped he still had the charm. “He was clumsy, and left me. I don’t see why I can’t replace him with someone who will get the job done.”

Clusiot’s eyes were carefully guarded. “And are you equally inclined toward… sailing?”

Louis bristled. There was no way he was leaving the island without Papillon, but he would have to go along with it for now. He nodded.

Clusiot turned to walk away, but seemed to change his mind, and spun back around, pushing his face into Louis’s.

“I know where you keep your money,” he said viciously. “But I am not a thief. Take that as a warning and a sign of my trust; you have it as long as I have yours.”

Louis could only nod once more. He watched Clusiot exit—and could not help but feel he had sold his soul to the devil.

He should not be surprised, though—this land was full of devils. And if he wanted to survive, if he wanted to see Papillon again, he would learn to be a devil too.

\---

The warden found Louis before his stay in the infirmary was up. Louis could not help but be immensely thankful for that—the skin on his back had healed, but the scars pulled tight whenever he moved, sending fearful reminders of open flesh to the front of his mind. The back-breaking work of logging and road building sometimes terrified him more than the thought of the prisoners waiting and wanting his money outside.

“One of my guards informs me that you cost a lot of people on the mainland their money,” the warden said, sitting on the corner of Louis’s cot. Louis did not shift away, although the memory of this man’s boot on his face (and the scar it had left there as well) was fresh. This man, too, had put Papillon in a place of pain. But all Louis could stand to do now was listen.

“I suppose that is true,” he said. “Although I feel… immense guilt. I was blind to how my actions would affect others.”

This was not true. Louis knew he deserved the sentence he had been given—maybe not this, not like this, but _something_. He knew what he had been doing was wrong; he just hadn’t cared about the human cost. His father certainly hadn’t raised him to think of _other people_. Where he came from, you looked out for yourself or you lost. Louis had always assumed this was how everyone thought.

It was not until Papillon that he learned there were exceptions.

“Well,” the warden said. “I knew when you did not run that you knew, deep down, you knew you were destined for this life. However, I think there is still something useful in you. I will be posting you with one of the guards, to train to be my bookkeeper. I know you had some schooling that did not involve criminal ways. This is your chance to prove you are not beyond redemption.”

If only Louis could escape this prison by cheating it out of all of its funds. Impossible, and clumsy. Papillon would not approve. Louis let a grateful smile fall upon his lips. “That would be… more than I could ever ask for, warden.”

The warden smiled beatifically. “You will be under my protection now—the guards will keep a close eye on you.” A coldness swept over his expression. “They will also notify me if you slip up in any way.”

That night, as Louis spent his last night on his solitary cot, he let his mind wander—as it always did—to Papillon. He had long since gotten used to the sounds of the jungle at night, the chatter of the guards on patrol. He had not gotten used to sleeping alone.

Since childhood, Louis had wanted to be independent. It was not until marriage that he began to open up, and learn the benefits to sharing a bed. Not just the comforts of love, but the physicality of having another person beside you, measuring your breathing against theirs, relaxing into their curves. When he married his wife, he did not expect to ever share his bed with another.

After the horrors of that first night on the boat, however, he fought to stay beside Papillon, his protector—and that meant sharing that harsh plank with him, their ankles chained, as the bats hovered above their sleeping faces. Even under those conditions, though, Louis let himself feel the comfort of another human body next to him—and it was all too easy when it was Papillon.

He missed that, now. He thought of Papillon, alone in silence. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find a way to help him. If he could help Papillon survive his time in solitary, he would be _his_ protector.

Louis sighed into his pillow, hand moving to seek something in the empty space beside him. His face felt hot, suddenly, as he realized who exactly it was he wished were beside him.

Well. They would be together again soon enough. He would ensure it.

\---

It was easier to send the coconuts than he thought it would be.

Mathis was his new bunkmate, partnered with Louis because they both had jobs that required the guards to be able to easily fetch them.

Mathis was older, and nearly mute; his words never came out the way he intended them to, so he kept his mouth shut. For this reason, he was able to travel to solitary—the guards knew he would not interact with those behind the doors.

As Louis watched him, though, he realized that the man did not like his job; he always looked pained when the guards came to collect him for his duty. At night, Mathis tried to tell him of the hunger he saw on men’s faces, when he glanced through the peephole to check for signs of life. Louis could not help but ask about Papillon, describe him as best as he could—and Mathis nodded sadly, and made the sign for “hunger” that Louis had learned to recognize.

Louis knew it was time to act, to find a way to get Papillon a sign of hope. On his walks back from the warden’s offices, he would excuse himself into the jungle to relieve himself—easy enough for the guard to allow, as they wanted nothing to do with the more unsavory aspects of guarding humans. It took Louis a while to perfect opening the coconut without any tools, but he found that a sharpened stick hammered into the ground did the trick. Then, he would smuggle the pieces out in his pockets, until he made it safely back to his bunk with Mathis, where he would pass them to the other man to deposit into Papillon’s water bucket the next morning.

Louis was sometimes dumbfounded by the sense of pride he felt about being able to do this for Papillon. Writing that note on their first attempt and passing it to Mathis—along with a hefty portion of his remaining money— had been more thrilling than anything Louis had done in recent months, and the thought of Papillon knowing he was out here, looking out for him, set his nerves on fire.

He really should have some shame, but whenever he thought of the other man, his heart raced and his only thought was of seeing him again. He found he would do anything for his friend, and he didn’t see what was wrong about that. After a lifetime of only serving himself, this was how he would earn his repentance.

Working at the warden’s office was certainly not where he would be getting it. The man was insufferable, and Louis was only glad that he could pretend to busy himself in the work—which really was _very_ dull—to get out of conversations.

Beyond the warden’s fondness for repetition of the same phrases—particularly, his opening speech to each new set of prisoners—he had a penchant for cruelty that made Louis’s skin crawl. Louis was never on the receiving end, until, of course, the day the letter came.

The warden came in storming, seething that some prisoner in solitary just would not break. Of course, Louis hoped he was speaking of Papillon.

Some movement he made caught the warden’s eye, and he reeled on Louis. “Well, isn’t this auspicious. I just received a letter in your name this morning.”

Louis felt the world at once—was it notice of his appeal? Was he finally going to leave this island? What would happen to Papillon if he did?

“Take a look for yourself,” the warden laughed brutally, tossing the paper over to Louis. He scrambled for purchase and tore the contents from the envelope without thinking about how he was playing right into the warden’s hand—the entertainment that he was always seeking from his prisoners.

It was the furthest thing from what he had been expecting. Divorce papers, an impersonal note from his lawyer officially separating their ties. His last scrap of hope gone, his only love left.

 _Maybe not only_ , a voice hissed through his mind. But he could not think of that yet, his fingers shaking as he reached for a pen. The warden motioned to a guard, who grabbed the papers from his hand.

“They don’t need your signature,” the warden said. “You’re not of France anymore; you belong to us. Your ties to your wife are long gone.”

Louis knew that already, knew it the moment he blurred her face from his sketches. He knew it the moment he started drawing butterflies, a sharper, more masculine face, in turn.

It still hurt. And the warden knew of that hurt. He had the victory he was looking for that day.

On his way back that evening, Louis still made his stop in the woods to grab a piece of coconut. He would not let this betrayal erase his relationship with Papillon. He would be better. He would be loyal.

He waited, that night, for Mathis to return. When morning came and there was still no sign of him, Louis knew that he was gone for good. Mathis had not been a close friend, but he deserved more than what Louis had brought on him.

And now, Papillon was adrift again, lost to Louis once more.

And the warden had gotten his second victory.

Louis hoped he would not get another.

\---

Louis hadn’t forgotten about Clusiot, and how dangerous the man was. That would be stupid. He had, however, let himself fall into a routine—wake up, work for the warden, go to sleep. Any spare thought went to Papillon, and how they would escape when he was finally released from solitary.

He hadn’t needed Clusiot’s protection after all, but the man let it slide easily enough—apparently, the man had had doubts about whether minding weak Louis was really worth the money. But Clusiot made it clear he would still seek Louis out for funding when the time came.

Unfortunately for Louis, that time came well before Papillon’s two years were up.

Clusiot found him as Louis was approaching the showers—always a time when Louis was on high alert, even with the guards keeping a dutiful eye out. But Clusiot could look natural, unassuming, and he kept his voice level as he sidled up beside Louis.

“I need the money,” he said. Louis kept his head high.

“I can’t give it to you yet.”

Clusiot growled low. “And why is that?”

Louis’s mind raced. “Papillon had a plan. We wait for him. I will still give you his share, all of it—you just have to wait.”

“I have a plan, too,” Clusiot said, but he looked hesitant. Louis knew that money was not the only think keeping Clusiot here; he did not have the access that Louis did, or the timing of Papillon.

“Put your plan on hold, then,” Louis said. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“The warden’s gunning for him,” Clusiot said. “I have eyes inside, and they’re starving your boy mad. All for a name that he won’t give.”

Louis knew this; the warden spoke often of the thief who would not break. Louis’s heart tightened as if in a vice each time Papillon’s name passed through the lips of some corrupt guard. He knew what they were doing to break him, and each time he went into the office he was afraid—afraid that Papillon had given him up; afraid that he never would.

“I don’t know what you think you’re waiting for,” Clusiot continued, “but it’s not going to be the same when you find it. They’re putting him in darkness tonight. Few men survive that.”

Louis looked over at Clusiot before collecting his things. “Papillon will.”

“For your sake, he’d better.”

Louis would not argue that.

\---

Papillon was in darkness now; Louis knew that. Louis was sleeping alone now—they had yet to replace Mathis with a new bunkmate. Louis wished they never would; not until Papillon returned to him. At night, he curled into the darkness, and slept fitfully.

When he dreamt, he dreamt of Papillon. They were in France, pushing their way down the streets towards the boat, shuffling through the crowd of prisoners. His wife and lawyer were watching from the sidelines, silent, their faces blurry. Papillon was next to him, now, hand warm in his as their chains clinked together. Louis looked over at him and smiled. Papillon smiled back.

Then they were free, away from the crowds, in a kind of darkness rimmed with red light. Papillon was opposite him, trapped behind an invisible wall. Louis could not see him, but knew he was there. He could feel him. He could always feel him.

They would be together again; this was all Louis believed. He did not deserve much out of this life, not after what he had taken, but he wanted to deserve Papillon. He would make himself useful, he would try to be good, so that he could get only that out of life.

To him, redemption looked like Papillon.

\---

Louis packed up the books for that day, shuffling the drawers in an attempt to drown out the droning of the warden’s speech—the same one he gave to all newcomers, over and over again in this purgatory. Louis bit back a grimace and instead made his way over to the guard, who unlocked the gate for him. His path was clear, his destination the infirmary.

He was going to see Papillon again.

He fought to keep the nervous smile from his face as he ascended the rickety steps and started to search the hospital beds—there, his heartbeat rising—there in the corner, like the one they had shared together at the start of it all—Papillon.

Staring straight forward, like he did not know where he was. It chilled his nerves. Still, Louis continued over to the bed, and sat next to Papillon. It was all he could do to not reach out and embrace the man. He settled for reaching over, hesitantly, and grasping his hand. Warm, like a dream.

“Papillon,” he said. _Please don’t be lost to me._

Papillon slowly turned his face, pulled his hand away. Louis’s heart dropped, and then stuttered as the other man lifted his hand and began to stroke Louis’s face, glancing over the scar. Louis let out a shaky breath, and met Papillon’s eyes.

They were as clear as the sea.

“I thought you’d gone silly on me,” he said, his voice quavering with relief.

Papillon’s finger left his face to touch his own lips. A secret, then. _A plan_.

Papillon’s smile was beautiful, and Louis drank it up. As Papillon explained what would come next, Louis knew he would go along with it all, everything, to have this man at his side.

He was, after all, his father’s son—a greedy, selfish bastard.

And he was going to give it all up for Papillon.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of feelings about 'papillon' and no one to talk to about it so they all came out in this. 
> 
> louis dega is such a unique and well developed character and yet i think there is so much room for analysis, so i tried to put that here. his assumption that he and papillon are made from the same stuff all culminating in his realization that papillon is so, so different from him to the point where they have to be separated is! a lot. 
> 
> i obviously played with the idea of redemption here because i feel like it was clear that it is something that dega thinks highly of. this is why after murdering clusiot, he knew there was no way back for him, and it was yet another thing that separated him from papillon, meaning they could never be together. tragic!
> 
> there were so many great lines in this film and they all came from dega, i tried to work in as many details as i could but, only having seen the movie once, there was only so much i could do. i hope that this version of events from dega's perspective could do justice to these characters, but i would love to hear your opinions as well!
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
